


Average Encounter

by RaindropMemory



Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Assassination Attempt(s), Blood and Violence, M/M, Pre-Slash, Tsuzuru almost fucking dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 21:22:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29723433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaindropMemory/pseuds/RaindropMemory
Summary: He’s an average guy going home to his brothers in their house situated in a plain neighborhood. What thehellkind of situation did he find himself in?!“He saw me. I don’t care if he’s not our target."
Relationships: Minagi Tsuzuru/Utsuki Chikage
Comments: 1
Kudos: 27





	Average Encounter

**Author's Note:**

> Tsuzuru is That Guy who gets caught up in shit when he's trying to get groceries or something.
> 
> I believe this isn't graphic at all but murder and blood happens, so yeah? Just in case. Idk.

It's dark out when Tsuzuru leaves the store. He double-checks everything before locking it for the night, wiping the sweat off his forehead once the clear night air meets his face. Another shift alone completed. It's fine. The store he works at isn't well-known, but it has its loyal customers, ones who recognize Tsuzuru by the name tag on his shirt and his hardworking personality. Tsuzuru can sit back doing schoolwork when the store is empty, keeping his phone nearby when there's an emergency at home — and there's _always_ an emergency.

Swinging his bag over his shoulder, Tsuzuru walks and basks in the moonlight. Walking home after a graveyard shift is one of the rare times he can get some peace and quiet. No one’s around the street at this hour, eerie and dead silent. If there’s anyone around, why would they judge or try to attack a broke college student trying to make ends meet? Tsuzuru has nothing to worry about. If only he wasn’t so tired the next day, but that's life as an older brother.

He walks, and there's always that nagging feeling behind his back each night. Is that the wind blowing leaves away, the rustling of someone’s forgotten trash, the pitter-patter of animals getting by? Tsuzuru stares ahead. He doesn’t look anyone in the eye if another soul happens to tread the same path. It’s a far different feeling walking in the afternoon where the elderly women who know him from part-time jobs greet him than being the only person on the sidewalk near the dead of the night. He’s not afraid. Most of the time.

Tonight is different, somehow. He knows what it’s like getting stared at — his brothers do it all the time when they want something out of Tsuzuru. Then, there’s that sneaky stare they do out of the corners in their eyes when they’re sneaking around. Tsuzuru ignores whatever they’re doing for his sanity.

Tonight, he feels someone’s presence. An anomaly. He’s not special for sensing someone lurking about; humans have that thing where goosebumps spread throughout, and the hairs on the back of their neck stand up. The preferred, much more important ability, is having the strength to defend yourself. Tsuzuru is good at sports but knowing how to handle a soccer ball isn’t a noteworthy skill.

As he adjusts his bag, Tsuzuru reaches for his phone. He can call one of his brothers; he knows they’re awake at this hour. He’s not good at fighting, however. And no one can help him at this time. Or, maybe he’s paranoid. It’s tonight’s weather that makes him shiver, zipping his green sweater up. By the quick force he uses, Tsuzuru worries he accidentally broke the zipper. But it’s just his name tag pinned to his shirt that he forgot to take off. Rolling his eyes, he takes it off and shoves it into his sweater pockets, enjoying the slight warmth after. He walks and walks, the gut feeling bothering him too much he makes the wrong turn. The _right_ turn, actually, as he doesn’t want to lead whoever’s following him into his home.

He doesn’t know where to go afterward. There’s only so much of a neighborhood you can explore before returning to hide inside a store.

Tsuzuru gulps, and he shivers again. Forget the lights of flickering signs. The street lamps barely work here. Taking a step back, he turns his head, but in that split moment, someone tugs him by his bag. Tsuzuru falls on the ground — _ouch_ — and he looks up toward the culprit.

A man in all black stands in front of him with his back turned. Tsuzuru can’t see his face; he can’t see anything as a splash of blood blurs his vision, nausea hitting from the strong smell. The stranger’s body hides most of the sight, though it just confirms Tsuzuru’s suspicions with two people causing his head to spin. He can’t get up. His body shakes, fingers twitching on the pavement along with his legs that refuse to work, and he cups his mouth.

He’s an average guy going home to his brothers in their house situated in a plain neighborhood. What the _hell_ kind of situation did he find himself in?!

Tsuzuru wants to think, “At least I’m not dead,” but when the stranger-savior turns around, his body turns cold with fear.

“I was clumsy,” the stranger-savior says and stares Tsuzuru down with his upper lip curled in disgust. “I suppose I have to-”

The same knife used to kill the other man lunges toward him, stained with blood at the tip. Aimed at his neck, the man is inches away from him. It’s a cliche thought, but his entire life flashes before his eyes. _I didn’t get to do this; I didn’t get to do that. What about my brothers?_

Surely there’s a less messy way of killing someone? This man looks like a professional. Either way, Tsuzuru can’t form any coherent sentences. The only thing he can mumble out is, “ _Don’t_ ,” as if the other man cares.

He sighs, and Tsuzuru notices the earpiece he’s wearing, his new savior for the moment seeing as he just avoided getting murdered _again_. The man touches it with a stern look on his face. Then, Tsuzuru realizes they’re not exactly alone again. Someone’s watching. Not in the shadows, but perhaps somewhere else. In the safety of an empty home or a car.

“He saw me. I don’t care if he’s not our target."

Tsuzuru didn't have a choice in witnessing that or not when his life happened to be on the line, too.

Despite the darkness, he can see the man’s features illuminated by the moonlight. Green hair and blueish eyes. He’s quite handsome as well, but Tsuzuru scolds himself for thinking like that. He’s on the verge of life and death tonight. Instead, he looks at the dead body. There’s blood, but not by a lot, and Tsuzuru wonders just what happened. They’re dead for sure, slumped and facing the ground. He looks around at the empty area and wonders just how no one caught them.

"Ugh. Yes… Fine. I understand."

Retracting his knife, the man offers a gloved hand to Tsuzuru. He looks at it, dumbfounded. He can't wrap his head around anything going on, but he still accepts it. With unusual strength, the man helps him up, raising his brow at Tsuzuru’s slight tremble.

“You’re not special. You were only in the way,” the assassin(?) says. “This was supposed to be a simple mission. If it weren't for _him_ you'd be dead along with that scum."

“But… What did they even do?” Tsuzuru gets the courage to ask. His stomach still churns from the nearby corpse. Innocent or not, that was a real human being.

He realizes it must be something kept under the wraps of public eyes. A part of the world he hasn’t discovered yet, where people whisper secrets amongst each other.

"It's none of your concern, but you were lucky to avoid the same fate as the other victims.”

When he puts it like that, it sounds worse than murder. Maybe it’s better he doesn’t find out.

"Thanks, then..?” _for giving me the scare of my life_. At least he’s alive for now.

“Go home,” the other spats, ignoring his gratitude. “And pretend you didn’t see anything.”

Tsuzuru raises his eyebrow. "Okay, yeah, I’ll do that, but what if someone finds out?” he’s getting cocky, maybe due to the adrenaline rush of surviving two attempted murders. “There’s a body in the middle of the neighborhood.”

“You’re bold for someone in your position, aren’t you?” the man replies, but Tsuzuru can’t tell if he’s amused or irritated. "No one will find out, and if they did, I'd have to find and kill you because you’re my only witness.”

Tsuzuru believes him. “...That’s fair.”

“Besides, _you_ were in the one who got in my way. I don’t know where you came from and why they chose you, but-” pausing, the man shakes his head. “Forget it. I’ve said too much. Go home.”

There’s no reason not to unless he wants a knife to his throat again. “Alright,” Tsuzuru says, and as he takes a step back, he’s not sure why he isn't rushing. He’s not in a hurry to leave. Something about the male, whoever he is, interests Tsuzuru. He wants to write and write — about him, his life, the possibilities of just what could they be.

Tsuzuru walks. His legs are weak, so he can’t run.

Then, his stubbornness decides he doesn’t want to leave without saying one more thing.

“Can I at least get your name?” Tsuzuru doesn’t need to know. “I won’t tell anyone,” he says like a little kid exchanging secrets with their friends. “You’ve already threatened me.”

With his foot on the corpse, the man tilts his head. He _laughs_ and walks to Tsuzuru. “You just won’t let go of this, huh?” he grips Tsuzuru by his sweater and pulls him close, smirking. “I’d be gone if I were you.”

Tsuzuru doesn’t speak. He’s scared, but not as much as before. His life isn’t on the line this time. It’s exhilarating, somehow.

“It’s April,” a sudden, subdued whisper causes Tsuzuru to shiver. “No harm in telling someone like you,” and a gloved thumb wipes his cheek, a blush emerging. He shouldn’t be able to see that in the pitch black of the night. “You had blood. Would be hard to explain to whoever you’re going home to.”

April pushes Tsuzuru away without another word, and he returns to the body where two other figures emerge from the shadows.

He decides not to stick around for any longer. Tsuzuru doesn’t know if the others are friends or foe, hell, he’s not sure about April himself. He doesn’t take his sweet time walking home, more aware of his surroundings than before. It’ll be hard to sleep tonight, too, but he can’t get the encounter out of his head. Not when he’s lying in bed with his notebook open, paragraphs scribbled everywhere.

Tsuzuru _can’t_ forget April. He returns to work the day after, a little shaken but not enough to disrupt his usual flow — and there’s a package on the counter. His boss didn’t say anything about receiving one, and nobody else should’ve come by since last night except for Tsuzuru. Excitement takes over him for a moment either way, and he tears it apart.

Disappointment quickly replaces that high as he opens the package to see nothing of importance except for a name tag. _His_ name tag. He must’ve dropped it last night.

On top of the name tag sits a note labeled:

_From April_

_You forgot this._

Glancing at the door, there’s no one out there, nor is there a sneaking suspicion someone is watching him again. Now the strange assassin from last night knows his name and where he works.

Tsuzuru sighs.

How did April figure all of that out?

And why does he want to learn more?


End file.
